


Usually Silent, Occasionally Speaking

by Cade Welentine (cadewelentine)



Series: Usually Silent Universe [1]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Asexual Cecil, Asexual Character, Cecil Might be Human or Inhuman, Cecil is an Intern, Episode 33: Cassettes, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Magical Voice, Mute!Cecil, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-10 10:23:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4388189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadewelentine/pseuds/Cade%20Welentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil can't remember how long it's been since he's spoken, but he can remember why he hasn't spoken. Why he refuses to speak.<br/>But a few new discoveries and a desire for answers may drive him to do the one thing he detests.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Color Brown and An Empty Home

**Author's Note:**

> Right, hello, sorry about my terrible description. I promise the story is better than that.
> 
> For a long time this was just titled "Elsa Aesthetic Mute Cecil", if that gives you any idea of the headspace I was in while I wrote this. 
> 
> This is probably the longest fic I've written, and I'm happy with the way it turned out. I'm still divvying up chapters, but it will be a multichapter fic. 
> 
> And, I want to put this out there now: This doesn't end, necessarily, if that makes sense. Like, it ends, but the ending is hopeful, and implies that there will be more, which there might be (!!!) (But I'm not promising more, nor that more will come soon.)
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it, and as always, comments and constructive critiques (as long as they're phrased politely and kindly) are always welcome! :D

Brown. That was all that Carlos could register at the moment; brown. It was everywhere, surrounding him in the tiny townhouse. Brown floors, brown cabinets, brown furniture, mysterious brown stains in the once white sink, and, especially, brown cardboard boxes, which he had not yet gotten around to unpacking, despite having been officially “moved into” the abode over a week ago.

There was a knock at the brown door, and Carlos managed to rouse himself from his sleepy state and climb out of his brown bed (which was covered with a brown throw blanket, as he had been too lazy to dig out his set of sheets and his comforter). He trudged out of the brown bedroom and down the brown stairs, counting 16 brown steps (one of which was slightly shorter than all of the others), before coming face to face with the door. He pulled it open, rubbing the sleep from one of his eyes.

“Good morning!” came the chipper voice of what his brain registered as being human shaped, with brown skin and tight curls of a different shade of brown, hidden underneath a purple hijab. Carlos had never been more excited to see the color purple in all of his life.

“Mornin’,” Carlos nodded, giving half a smile and rubbing his eyes again.

“We’re your neighbors,” the voice continued, stepping slightly to the side so that Carlos could see another person-shaped splotch of brown with white hair. “I’m Dana, and he’s Cecil. I live in the townhouse next door, and Ceece here lives at the top of that hill over there-” Carlos could tell she was pointing at something, but he couldn’t make it out.

“I’m Carlos,” He cut in. “And you’ll have to forgive me, but I don’t have my glasses on, and I can’t see a thing you’re gesturing to.”

“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry.” Dana said. “Though that does explain why you haven’t taken the plate of cookies I’ve been holding out this whole time.”

“Sorry.” Carlos winced, taking the plate from her hands. The bottom was warm, as if the cookies had just come out of the oven before she brought them over.

“They’re chocolate chip,” she explained. “Cecil’s mother’s secret recipe; everyone in town loves them, but Cecil won’t share the recipe with anyone.” Carlos could see a small sliver of white appear on the brown area that should have been Cecil’s head, and he assumed that it was a bashful smile.

“Um, why don’t you guys come in?” Carlos suggested, stepping aside to let the duo in. “I’ll run upstairs and grab my glasses, and maybe throw on some clothes that aren’t the pajamas I’ve been wearing for four days in a row.” He laughed nervously, cursing silently and asking himself why he would say that. He watched Dana look back at Cecil, who nodded in approval.

“That sounds great, Carlos,” she smiled, stepping into the townhouse with Cecil trailing close behind, like a duckling.

“Sorry ‘bout the mess,” Carlos said. “I haven’t finished unpacking-” translation: he hadn’t started unpacking. “-but feel free to have a seat anywhere. Make yourself at home; I will be right back.”

Carlos disappeared upstairs as quickly as he could. Once back in his bedroom, he fumbled blindly around the surface of the brown bedside table for his glasses. He triumphantly slid them on his face, smiling to himself as the world shifted back into focus. He then moved his own focus on to finding some clean clothes that matched enough that Dana and Cecil wouldn’t think he was a complete freak.

In one of the boxes- which he had helpfully placed near the closet- he found his old lab coat, which had been a graduation gift from his mother, and a t-shirt that read “Of Quartz I Love Geology”, and a pair of jeans with holes at the knees; it wasn’t the perfect outfit, and he could practically hear his mother tsk-ing in disapproval all the way in Massachusetts, but it was good enough. He slipped out of his old pajamas, tossing them into the hamper (He had managed to unpack that, but not any other clothes in which to change into, essentially rendering the hamper useless.), and into the clean outfit. It felt good to be in fresh clothes after so long; he could only imagine how much better they would feel had he showered, but it would have been rude to make Dana and Cecil wait that long.

Carlos looked at himself in the mirror. He didn’t look half bad, if he did say so himself. He ran a hand through his hair- it was getting a bit long; he’d have to cut it soon. There was a barber shop near the Ralph’s on Main Street, perhaps he’d stop in there over the weekend and get his unruly mop trimmed. At the moment, however, he had guests waiting downstairs, and he refused to let them wait a second longer, so he put on his best, most winning smile, approached the staircase, and slid down the banister, hopping to his feet with a small thud when he reached the bottom.

“What are you wearing?” Dana asked, her voice tinged with fear, though Carlos didn’t know why.

“Oh, this?” he asked. “It’s just a silly science shirt my niece got me. Anytime she sees a science pun she thinks of me so I get a lot of-”

“Button your lab coat.” Dana said, her teeth gritted and her lips barely moving. She and Cecil were stiff as boards, their hands clearly where anyone could see them, and both were nervously looking around.

“Um, okay,” Carlos nodded slowly, his hands doing up the buttons so that the shirt was covered. “Why?”

“Geology is a forbidden field of study in Night Vale.” Dana said, relaxing visibly now that the offending shirt was hidden. “Even the mention of it can be enough to get you sent in for reeducation.”

“‘Reeducation’?” Carlos echoed uncertainly. He didn’t know what that was, but from the way Dana said it, he didn’t think it could be a good thing.

“Not important at the moment; I’ll explain later.” she promised, waving his concern away. He nodded, adjusting his glasses. Dana and Cecil were much more human looking with his glasses on, though his original view of brown splotches wasn’t, in the loosest sense, wrong. They did, after all, both have brown skin- Dana’s being a warm umber brown and Cecil’s being similar to that of russet potatoes, should their skin be a bit reddish- and Dana did have hair of a darker brown than her skin (and it was hidden underneath a hijab in a lovely shade of lavender) whilst Cecil had hair that was shockingly white for someone of both his skin tone and apparent age. But it was nice, in Carlos’ opinion, to be able to make out actual features on the two. Dana, for example, had the cutest little dimples when she smiled, and Cecil- well, Cecil appeared to have three eyes, each solid white.

“I’m sorry,” Carlos said, taking off the eyewear to clean the lenses. “My prescription must be off- Cecil, it looks like you have three eyes and no pupils.” He laughed, but Cecil gave another sheepish smile and a shrug.

“Uh, he does have three eyes.” Dana cut in. “But it’s best not to ask about those.”

Apparently, the people were just as scientifically interesting as Carlos had found the rest of the town to be.

“Right, of course, sorry.” he nodded.

“So, Carlos, what brings you to our fair city?” Dana inquired.

“Well, I am a scientist,” Carlos began. “And I was given a grant to come study here- to find out just what is going on around here, if you will. I think Night Vale is the most scientifically fascinating community in the US.”

“You’re a scientist? That must be exciting.” Dana sighed wistfully, absently twirling a stray curl around her finger. “Sounds much more interesting than the stuffy old mayor’s office.”

“It does have its perks.” Carlos agreed. “And what about you, Cecil? What do you do?”

Cecil glanced at Dana, who spoke up for him, “Cecil’s a radio intern, he files papers, does research, the usual.”

“Does he ever talk?” Carlos teased.

“Not unless he absolutely has to.” Dana said. “It’s for, uh, religious reasons.” She looked at Cecil who nodded in approval.

“Oh, what religion is he?” Carlos wondered. He couldn’t, off the top of his head, think of any religion that didn’t allow its followers to talk (or at least not the male ones), but he was always curious about other people’s customs.

“Uhh...” Dana trailed off, looking to Cecil, who was gesturing wildly with his hands. Carlos recognized one or two of the motions as being sign language, which led him to believe that all of the motions were, but he didn’t know very much sign language. His roommate in college’s girlfriend had been deaf, and he had picked up just enough ASL to make pleasant small talk with her if his roommate was in the bathroom or to tell her when he was coming back if he happened to be out when she came looking for him, but he had certainly not picked up enough to understand what Cecil was telling Dana. And he was definitely not fluent enough with the little bit he did know to be able to decipher any motions that went as fast as Cecil’s hands seemed to be flying.

“It’s a religion that needs to go home and pray right now.” Dana said, she and Cecil already moving toward the door. “So it has been a pleasure meeting you, Carlos, we will see you around.”

“I-” Carlos started, but the duo had already dashed out the door, leaving Carlos alone and surrounded by nothing but brown once again. “Okay then.”

...

“We’re going to need to come up with a better excuse for the not talking thing,” Dana said, handing Cecil a mug of tea within the safe confines of her apartment. “You know, in case there are more interlopers asking questions.” Cecil nodded, cupping the mug with both hands, tendrils of steam swirling up toward the sky. He took a tentative sip, then set the mug down on the glass surface of Dana’s coffee table.

“Any ideas?” Dana wondered, plopping down beside him on the couch. Cecil shook his head. He’d never had to come up with an excuse for not talking; everyone in Night Vale just accepted that he wished to stay silent.

“Well, what if we say that, um, oh I don’t know...” Dana trailed off. Cecil signed something, but Dana shook her head. “We can’t say that!” she said.

_Why not?_ Cecil signed.

Dana sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, “It’s just- it’s not a good idea, Cecil. Let’s keep spitballing.”

...

Hours later, Cecil and Dana had decided that they would tell any interloper who asked that Cecil had lost his vocal chords in a strange spiderwolf-related accident. Cecil didn’t think it was necessarily the best idea, but Dana assured him that it was strange enough that nobody would continue asking questions when they heard it.

Cecil stood on Dana’s porch, looking up at his house on the top of the hill. It was illuminated from behind by the light of a harvest moon. The home looked eerie that way- a blackened silhouette with orange edges. The shutters were barely hanging on at their hinges, and they rattled in the breeze. He could hear the shingles of the roof coming loose, crashing to the ground below.

“Do you want me to walk you up there?” Dana asked, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Cecil shook his head, but gave her a gentle smile. He was grateful for the offer.

“All right.” Dana said. “See you around, Cecil.” He nodded, as if to say, “Same to you, Dana.” She shut the door, and he held his jacket closed to fight the late autumn chill. He hopped down the steps and onto the sidewalk, and he crossed the street without looking both ways- stopping when he saw the headlights of a ghost car pointed at him; he passed right through the car as it zipped along, unharmed by the apparition.

Once he had reached the other side of the street, he began a slow ascent up the hill, following the winding path his mother had designed. Rather than making a path that went straight up the hill, as one would normally do, his mother had the path wrap around the hill in a spiral. Cecil didn't mind it if he was in the car, and as a child it had always been fun to race down it on a bicycle, but walking the damn thing was torture. There were days when it took him almost twenty minutes to get from the bottom to the top- 15 minutes if he was going from the top to the bottom. This did mean, however, that he always had plenty of time to think, and tonight, he decided, he was thinking about Carlos.

Carlos the Scientist.

He had perfect hair and teeth like a military cemetery, and when he had smiled, Cecil had fallen in love instantly. His voice was as perfect as the rest of him, and Cecil couldn't help but replay the way Carlos had said his name over and over again in his head. _Cecil_. It was so rich and perfect in every way.

Cecil longed to be close to him- to run his fingers through that perfect hair, to breathe in the scent of whatever cologne Carlos used. He wanted to kiss him and cuddle with him, and he wanted to just lay with him and listen to him talk for hours.

And Cecil wanted to be able to share these desires with someone. Dana wouldn't understand. As well intentioned as she was, she had the unfortunate habit of linking asexuality with aromanticism- and Cecil was lightyears away from being aromantic. She always seemed surprised, and just a tad confused, whenever Cecil mentioned having romantic interest toward anyone, and he didn't think she'd be particularly understanding of it toward an interloper.

Relationships with interlopers were unheard of in Night Vale. It simply wasn't done.

But it could be done, Cecil reasoned, with the correct paperwork and consent from both parties. He'd look into it. There were a few strings he could pull down at City Hall.

He'd even speak, if he had to. He felt like Carlos would be worth it.

And then he was at the top of the hill, staring the front door of the decrepit old house. His hand turned the doorknob, and opened the old oak door with a creak. The doorknob, he found, had come off in his hand. He wasn't surprised by this- just annoyed; it was one of the many inevitabilities in his life. His house was bound to fall to pieces around him. It was just the way it was. The inside of his home was even less inviting than the outside. The furniture was all victorian, and the upholstery was dark and drab; his mother had always had eccentric taste. The peeling wallpaper was faded, so that the florals were a different shade of beige than their background. He only used a few of the rooms, and he tried to stay out of the house for as long as possible, so dust was caked on every available surface, like powdered sugar on donuts.

Cecil sighed, setting his messenger bag down beside the door. He turned to the staircase, and began another ascent. He didn't hold onto the dusty handrail, and he didn't check to make sure the portraits hanging on the walls were still in the correct places; the faceless old woman who secretly lived in his home had stopped playing games like that once his sister had left. He wasn't even sure that she was still secretly living in his home. He knew that if he had anywhere else to go, he would be there rather than here.

He wandered down the long, dark hallway at the top of the stairs. He held his hands out on either side of him, making sure that the doors to each of the other rooms were closed. One could never know what lurked behind doors that had been closed for as long those doors had, and Cecil didn’t want to risk coming face to face with whatever was in there.

It wasn’t until he reached the end of the hallway that he came upon the only open door. This room, he knew, was perfectly free of danger. He’d performed- and kept up with- all the proper bedroom-securing bloodstone rituals. He entered it, kicking off his shoes and flopping down on the unmade bed.

Instinctually, Cecil curled up the fetal position, pulling the blankets up to his chin in a fist. His eyes were shut tight- even the third one, which very rarely closed. The room was still and silent for a moment, and then, ever so quietly, Cecil began the part of his nightly routine that he absolutely dreaded.

He began to speak.

Because, after all, if you don’t use it, you lose it, and while Cecil would much prefer to lose this special ability of his, he knew it wasn’t something he could afford. He settled, tonight, on saying something that he didn’t think could come with any possible repercussions, and he repeated it over and over and over.

“Carlos, Carlos, Carlos,” the name was sweet on his tongue and refreshing like cold orange milk. “Carlos, Carlos, Carlos.” His name was as perfect as he was.

It was enough to almost let Cecil find talking bearable.

Almost.


	2. A Purple Plate and a Cassette Player

“You’re going to talk again one day, aren’t ya, Palmer?” Leonard’s voice rang through the intern breakroom. It broke the silence in the room for a moment, until he paused for Cecil’s response, and heard only the humming of the refrigerator and the sweeping of a broom as Cecil swept the last of Intern Lessa’s ashes into the pit in the intern breakroom.

“Come on, Palmer.” Leonard pressed, slinging an arm over Cecil’s shoulder in a way that Cecil was sure was meant to be fatherly but that came across as highly creepy. “Just say something simple. I wanna hear that ‘magic’ voice a’ yours.”

Cecil thought his next few actions out very carefully. He respected Leonard, and he didn’t want to be on Leonard’s bad side. After all, Leonard was his boss, and others in his position were known to have fatal accidents, it wouldn’t be hard to get rid of him without anyone asking too many questions. Not that Cecil necessarily thought that Leonard would try to kill him, but he was a Night Valian, and Night Valians trusted everyone with a large grain of salt- more of a rock than a grain really.

“Please don’t touch me.” Cecil said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What’s that? I didn’t hear you.” Leonard said, but his arm had dropped from Cecil’s shoulders. Cecil gulped, already feeling guilty about what he’d said. He’d probably made it impossible for Leonard to ever touch him again.

Curse his stupid voice.

“I said, ‘please don’t rush me’.” Cecil lied, his voice a bit louder.

“You’ll talk when you’re ready then, Palmer?” Leonard guessed, taking his cigar out of his mouth and holding it between his index and middle fingers with his thumb bracing it. Smoke rose up from it, twirling in spirals and pirouettes in the air until it hit the spinning ceiling fan and dispersed, forming a thin haze over the ceiling. Cecil thought smoking was a filthy habit, but he wasn’t going to say anything about it.

He wasn't known to say anything about anything.

...

Carlos disappointed to find that his apartment was still unbearably brown after he had unpacked. A surprising number of his belongings were brown, and those that weren’t brown in color, bore the name of his alma mater: Brown University. So that was, in part, why he held on to Dana’s purple plate so long.

Well, that, and the fact that he had honestly forgotten that the plate was in his sink. So when he found it, he promptly washed it, tucked it under his arm, and waltzed next door to return it.

Dana’s door opened before he even had to knock.

“I heard you whistling.” she explained with a shrug. Carlos wrinkled his nose slightly. He’d been whistling? He hadn’t even noticed.

“Oh,” he said. “Well, here is your plate back.” He held it out to her, but she cocked her head in confusion.

“It’s not my plate.” she said, the corner of her mouth turning up in a lopsided smile. “It’s Cecil’s. Those were his cookies, too. In fact, it was his idea to welcome you at all. He likes welcoming people to Night Vale; it’s the one non-Night Valian thing about him...” she trailed off for a moment, staring right through Carlos, as though he weren’t there, lost in thought.

“Um, Dana?” Carlos tried, waving his hand in front of her face.

“Oh, sorry,” Dana said, flashing him her usual chipper smile. “Anyway, you should go take that plate up to him.”

“Up to him?” Carlos repeated, furrowing his brow. Dana nodded, pointing across the street, and upward, to a house that sat upon the tallest hill that Carlos had ever seen. The house itself looked like somewhere the Addams family might have lived, though, if they had lived there, they abandoned the house years ago. Ivy grew up the sides to heights that were as scientifically fascinating as they should have been impossible.

“You’re lucky,” Dana continued. “Today is one of the rare days he’s stayed up in there. He must’ve found something.”

“What?” Carlos asked.

“Just go take the plate to him.” she said, giving a measured nod before shutting the door in the scientist’s face.

...

Carlos found he had to knock on Cecil’s door, not with his fist, but with a door knocker. It was made of a dark metal- perhaps wrought iron- and appeared to depict tentacles tangled into an intricate celtic knot. One tentacle hung down in a loop to form the handle, and framed an engraving of the letter P. He grasped the handle tightly, lifting it up and letting it drop back with a satisfying bang. The force was enough to knock the door ajar.

“Hello?” he called, sticking his head in. Cecil was nowhere to be seen, not that Carlos could see very much. The room was dark, save for a few stray sunbeams that managed to weakly shine in through cracks in the boarded up windows. Dust swirled and sparkled like glitter in the faint rays.

“Cecil?” Carlos tried again, stepping in. “It’s me-Carlos? The scientist? I live next door to your friend Dana? I, um, I wanted to return your plate?” He got no response, and he couldn’t figure out why he expected one. He knew that Cecil didn’t talk.

“ _My brother says that I’ll never make it in radio_ ,” the sound wafted in from another room. “ _Because my voice isn’t right for it._ ”

“Cecil?” Carlos asked, taking a few steps in the direction the sound was coming from. “Is that you?”

“ _Um, I’ve been seeing that movement more,_ ” the voice continued. “ _Even when I’m not recording.  It’s like someone is walking towards me, but when I turn, there’s nothing there. And it’s not the Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives in Our Home because I asked her, and the next day our kitchen table had been flipped over, and super-glued to the floor, which I’m pretty sure is her way of saying no. I wish whatever it is would just say hi._ ”

Carlos pushed open the door, following the voice for reasons he didn’t understand. He was being rude, just barging into Cecil’s house when he hadn’t been invited. He could hear his mother tsking again, but he couldn’t help it. This was just so scientifically interesting! And even if it wasn’t scientifically interesting, it was normally interesting and would have been enough to pique anyone’s interest, scientist or not. After all, it wasn’t every day that you heard a voice in the home of a man who didn’t talk.

Cecil sat in a high backed arm chair, his back to the door. He didn’t seem to notice Carlos come in, and the talking continued uninterrupted.  Carlos cautiously stepped into Cecil’s field of vision, where he saw that it was not Cecil talking, rather the voice was emanating from a dusty cassette player (that was scientifically interesting- Carlos didn’t know anybody who still had a cassette player, much less one that worked!) that sat on a small wooden end table Cecil had placed in front of his chair.

Cecil was staring at the cassette player, his face pensive. Carlos waved his hand over the player, and Cecil jumped. His feet were suddenly up on the chair, his arms wrapped around his knees.

“S-sorry-” Carlos stammered. “I didn’t mean to startle you, I- I just wanted to return your plate?” He held up the purple ceramic platter, watching Cecil’s feet slowly lower to the ground.

“Here.” Carlos said, handing it over. Cecil nodded as he took it, and signed one of the few bits of ASL Carlos remembered: thank you. Cecil rose from his chair and strolled into another room, taking the plate with him.

Carlos decided to be nosy, taking a peek at the tape still spinning in the player. “Cecil Palmer Radio Test: Age 15” was scrawled across the label in thin lines of purple ink.

“ _And she’s covered all the mirrors in my house_.” the tape was saying. “ _I’m not sure why, but I think it must be because of pride. Being proud does all sorts of things… to a… um… to a person._ ” Carlos looked around the room. The mirrors were, in fact, covered by cloths and quilts, each hastily taped up or thrown over the frame.

How scientifically fascinating.

Cecil came back into the room, sans plate, just as the recording said, “ _I'm– I’m sorry, I got distracted. That weird movement is back, and it's– it’s closer now._ ”

“Is this you, on this recording here?” Carlos asked.

Cecil shook his head furiously.

“ _Hello? Hello? I’m Cecil! Cecil Gershwin Palmer!_ ” Cecil’s eyes widened, and he moved toward the player faster than Carlos had ever seen a person move. “ _And you cannot scare me! You cannot! You canno-_ ” He pressed the stop button and the sound cut out.  

“What are those tapes from?” Carlos pressed. Cecil didn’t say anything. He just blinked at the scientist. “Right. You don’t talk. Sorry.”

Cecil shrugged, cocking his head to side, as if to say it’s okay.

“I guess I’ll, uh, just be going then.” Carlos said. “But, Cecil? If you ever need answers, feel free to come see me, and I’ll do my best to get them. After all, finding answers is the first thing that scientists do.”

Cecil glanced at the tape player for a brief moment, then back at Carlos. The scientist thought he saw something flash behind Cecil’s eyes, but then Cecil smiled and nodded, running his hand through his hair, which Carlos took as his cue to exit.

 


	3. Flashbacks, Cat Pajamas, and a Deus Ex Machina

Cecil didn’t know when he’d made the decision to stop talking. He knew that it couldn’t have been after the fight with his brother. He’d foolishly said that he wished his brother wasn’t his brother, and when he woke up the next day, every picture of his brother was gone- not taken down, per se, but missing, as if he’d never existed. He was gone from the family portrait, an empty space where his grimace usually was.

For a while, Cecil thought everyone was playing some sort of practical joke on him. It would have been like his older brother to tease him in that way. They were always making the other question his sanity; that was just what brothers did. But the joke starting dragging on much longer than any of his previous jokes had, and when Cecil asked his sister about it, she seemed confused.

“Brother?” she had echoed. “Gersh, you’re my only brother. You feeling okay?” Cecil had nodded and said that he felt fine; he was just trying to be funny. It was a lie, but it was better than her thinking he was crazy. After a while, he began to believe that he’d never had a brother, to the point that he couldn’t remember anything about him. In fact, he probably wouldn’t have even remembered that he had a brother had he not found those tapes.

Perhaps he’d decided after the incident with Earl Harlan. Earl had been his childhood best friend; they’d been in scouts together and grown close in their quest to earn badges. They’d grown so close, in fact, that they’d started a little fling. It was nice, for the most part. Cecil got affection from Earl that he wasn’t receiving at home, where his mother was hiding- his sister was living at school, so she wasn’t any help in that department- and Earl got... well, Cecil didn’t really know what Earl had gotten from the relationship, but he seemed happy.

They’d been in Cecil's backyard when it had been suggested.

"What if we ran away?" Earl had said, his arm bent behind his head, staring up the sky, mostly void, partially stars.

"Very funny, Early." Cecil laughed, assuming he was kidding. Earl liked to joke about things like that.

"I'm serious, Cecil." Earl said. "Think about it. We're graduated, and it's not like we have any reason to stay here. We could leave tonight; I've got a car. And we'll go back east a ways. Maybe New York or someplace, you can pursue theatre- you liked playing Pippin, didn't you? Or we could go to L.A. Anywhere really, as long as we go together."

Cecil sat up, "Earl, what are you talking about? You sound delusional."

"I don't think I've thought more clearly in my life." Earl countered. "I mean, really, what are we staying for?"

"All sorts of things." Cecil said. "I have my  radio job, and there's my mother-"

Earl snorted, "Yeah, a dinky little intern job at the community radio station-does it even reach as far as Desert Bluffs?- and your deranged, delusional mother."

"My job is not dinky," Cecil defended. "And my mother is not deranged. What are you trying to say?"

"You can do better." Earl replied. "That's all."

"I don't want to do better. I'm happy here." Cecil said.

Earl pushed himself up slightly, resting on his elbows.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard." he said.

"Oh, so what I want is stupid?" Cecil remarked. "Okay, that makes sense."

"Cecil, that's not what I meant-" Earl tried.

"And what did you mean, Earl?" Cecil demanded. "Just that anyone who doesn't agree with the great Earl Harlan is an idiot? Is that what you meant? Or is it just that I'm an idiot?"

"I never said that-" Earl argued.

"You didn't have to." Cecil rolled his eyes. "Sorry I couldn't be what you wanted."

"Cecil-" Earl sighed, sitting forward and placing his hand on Cecil's shoulder.

Cecil shrugged him off, "Maybe you should go."

"Cecil, please." Earl said.

"Go away, Earl." Cecil insisted. "I don't want to talk to you." He held his breath, waiting for Earl to make another retort, but was met with mostly silence, save for the crickets chirping in the grass.

He expected Earl to call the next day, but he didn't. The few times Cecil tried to call Earl, his call went to voicemail, and was never returned.

Yes, that seemed to be it. Cecil could remember distinctly realizing, a week later, that it was related to him. Related to whatever it was his stupid voice did. It pushed people away, and he couldn't afford to lose anymore people. As it was, he was all alone in that house. He'd made a definite decision to stop talking until he had to, until he took over Leonard Burton's job.

He couldn't hurt anyone over the radio.

Or at least, he didn't think he could.

...

Cecil couldn’t sleep. Too many things were rattling around inside of his head.

Those cassettes were bothering him. They mentioned a brother that, based on what Cecil could observe in the house, did not exist. But what was bothering him more was the flickering his younger self had seen. What was it? What did want?

And just what had happened at the tail end of that last tape?

It sounded like he’d been strangled, which obviously couldn’t have been true, because he was still alive. Or-or at least he thought he was.

And then there was the matter of the last thing he remembered Earl saying to him.

_You can do better._

It echoed over and over again in his head.

_You can do better._

And then there was what he had responded with.

_I don't want to do better. I'm happy here._

Was he still happy here? Was he still happy hiding up in his house, too petrified to speak? It wasn't like he had a choice. It wasn't like there was a way to control whatever it was his voice would do. Or at least, there wasn't one he knew of. There couldn't be a way, could there?

Cecil sat up. It was obvious that he wasn’t going to get to sleep tonight.

At least not without answers.

...

Carlos was nearly asleep when he heard the knocking at his door. It was loud and urgent, and it reminded him of the time the police had knocked on his door looking for his roommate (but that was a long story and best saved for another time, when someone wasn't urgently knocking at his door). He slid out of bed, his feet finding his slippers so that he wouldn't have to walk across the cold wood of the flooring. He rushed down the stairs as the knocking became more frantic.

"Hold your horses." He yawned, unlocking it. He undid the chain, and pulled the door open. He was surprised to Cecil standing there, in what Carlos assumed to be his own pajamas- a pair of flannel pants printed with kittens and a t-shirt from Radon Canyon, which Carlos had been meaning to check out. He didn't think there was supposed to be that much radon on earth, let alone in one canyon.

"Cecil, hi." Carlos nodded. "What's up?"

Cecil handed him a note.

"'I don't know if you know sign language, but you didn't seem to, so I wrote a bunch of notes.'" Carlos read, holding the paper away from his face and squinting. "I'm gonna need to get my glasses after this one. 'You said that if I ever need answers, I could come to you.' You need answers then, I guess?" Cecil nodded.

"Come in." Carlos said. "Have a seat, I'll be right back." He ran upstairs to get his glasses, leaving Cecil to meekly settle in on his couch.

Carlos returned a moment later with his glasses squarely on his face. His eyelids were still heavy, and Cecil felt a pang of guilt for having woken him..

"So," Carlos said, falling into the armchair across from Cecil. "What question do you have that needs answering?"

Cecil reached into his pocket, pulling out another index card and handing it over to Carlos.

"'There are a lot of answers I would like,'" Carlos read. "'But I think I need answers about my voice first.' About your voice?"

Cecil nodded, then gestured for Carlos to continue reading.

"'It has a habit of making things happen.'" Carlos forged on. "'Even if I don't really want those things to happen. It's made people go away, or do things, or even stop existing all together. I can't control it. I just want to be able to control it.'"

"Perfect Carlos, how do I control it?" Cecil asked, his voice quiet, nearly a whisper, but loud enough for Carlos to hear the desperation that it was laced with.

Carlos paused for a moment, considering his next words carefully.

"Well, I- I don't know." He admitted, and Cecil's face fell. "What I mean is I'd have to run some tests, study you a bit- it could take a while, and I don't know that I could ever find the kind of answer you're looking for. Magical voices with the power to make people disappear are not my scientific specialty."

"I understand." Cecil said, and goodness did Carlos think his voice was nice.

"But I'll work to find them, Cecil," Carlos continued. "I promise you that."

"Thank you, Carlos." Cecil nodded, showing a hint of a smile. "Um, perhaps this weekend you could run some of your tests, and I could take you to dinner afterward?"

Carlos was caught off guard. He wasn't accustomed to being asked out; most people assumed he was too caught up in his work.

"I'd- I'd really like that." He grinned.

Cecil smiled again, standing up, "Great." He paused, then laughed out loud.

"What?" Carlos asked.

"Nothing," Cecil shook his head. "It just- it's nice to talk again, that's all. Even just for a little bit."

"Oh." Carlos said for lack of anything meaningful to add.

"I'll let you get back to sleep now." Cecil decided, crossing to the door. He turned the knob and pulled it open.

"Hey, Cecil?" Carlos asked, and Cecil turned. "Why start talking now?"

Cecil shrugged, "I don't have a good reason, really. I was just thinking, about a lot things, and something someone told me a long time ago really stuck out; he always told me that I can do better. It just...took me a while to figure it out, I guess."

"Alright." Carlos nodded. "Cool."

Cecil smiled again, "Goodnight, Carlos, goodnight."

And then he shut the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the non-ending ending.   
> Of sorts. 
> 
> Well, what I mean is this particular fic is done, but this sort-of-au is not. (I more than intend to write the dinner planned at the end of this chapter, ;D) I really want to expand on it, but feel it would be more manageable to many smaller stories and keep them in a collection rather than continuously add to one long story and lose track of it. 
> 
> So, thank you for reading this, I really appreciate that, and be on the look out for more from this Cecil. :D


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